Gates of Thread and Stone

CHAPTER 21

WHEN I AWOKE on the last day of Sun, Avan’s spot on the floor was empty. After washing up, I made my way down to the mess hall and ran into G-10 outside the door.

“Avan’s up in the nest,” he said.

Maybe his observation skills came from his superior abilities. Or maybe I was just that easy to read.

“By himself?”

“I keep telling you, the gargoyles are tame. They won’t hurt him.”

I flushed, nodding. “I know.”

G-10 shouted at my back as I walked away: “Don’t be late for training!”

Since our meeting with Irra, G-10 wouldn’t talk about my progress with me. Yesterday, I had kicked his leg and gotten him down on one knee. Of course, then he’d flattened me, but I still got in a hit. Hina was helping as well by sparring with me in the afternoons.

When I reached the bottom of the staircase, I looked up at the endless spiral of rust and wood rot. Did I really want to go up there again? I groaned and started climbing.

Halfway up, I plopped down on a step to catch my breath. The sound of creaking steps echoed through the shaft. I could see Avan descending. He pulled up short when he saw me.

“What are you doing?”

“Resting,” I said, and patted the step beside me.

Avan sat, stretching his long legs over the steps and crossing them at the ankles.

“What were you doing?” I asked, leaning against his arm. “Besides communing with gargoyles.”

“They’re interesting animals. G-10 says they’re enchanted, but I’m not sure that’s it. Or at least that’s not all of it. They’re too smart.”

“Did you make a new friend up there?” I teased.

His dimple appeared briefly before he turned serious again. “I guess it got me thinking about what might have been done to them. Back when they were first created by Ninu and then changed by Irra. You can’t will loyalty through magic.”

“Every sentinel trapped by Ninu’s collars says you can.”

“But that’s not real. They’ve lost all sense of self. The gargoyles aren’t like that. Real loyalty is a decision you have to be able to make for yourself. Like how the hollows choose to stay here and fight for Irra.”

“Avan, for all we know, the collars Irra put on them might not be just for communication.”

Avan shrugged and fell silent.

I stared at a large scratch in the wood beneath my feet, the random creaking of joints the only sound between us.

At last, I said, “If this is about the decision you have to make today—”

“I’ve already decided.”

“Oh.” I pushed my hair behind my ear, waiting for more.

He stood up. “Come on. If we’re late, G-10 will probably punish us by making us climb these stairs again.”

After training, Avan and I spread out on the grass beneath the tree in the courtyard to enjoy the last of the sunlight. Already, the clouds had begun to close in, thick plumes flaring orange. We stayed there for what felt like hours, until the shadows grew long and the Sun made its final, valiant fight, beams of light pushing through the crowding sky. But eventually, the last of its rays diminished.

G-10 had informed us that Irra would see us in the hospital wing as soon as night fell. So Avan and I picked ourselves up and made our way there.

The space was strangely cozy. Lively drapes in all colors separated the cots, and patterned rugs cushioned the floor. I tilted my head to study one of the patterns. The geometrical shapes looked a bit like gargoyles.

Irra instructed Avan to wait as he took me into a well-lit room. He pointed me to a padded chair beside a metal counter. Nearby was an operating table, which we hopefully wouldn’t need, and various instruments, the purposes of which I didn’t want to know.

I extended my arm across the counter, palm up. Irra sat on a stool opposite me. G-10 had told us that each ID contained threads of blood through the metalwork—a simple enchantment that allowed Ninu to trace people. We were too far away from Ninurta for Ninu to trace us now, so I didn’t know if the Watchmen had identified us as the fugitives. But in case our new IDs were given close scrutiny in Ninurta, Irra would have to re-create the fusion of blood and metal.

“G-10 is pleased with your improvement,” Irra said as he felt along the bend of my elbow.

I smiled, proud of myself. It had been only a few days since we began real fighting, and every training session left me more bruised than the last; but I was learning to tolerate the pain. Anything less was unacceptable. With another week left to train, I could only improve. The true test of my progress would be in the arena.

“When new hollows join, do you break their connection to Ninu yourself?” I asked.

“Certainly,” Irra said as he picked up an ominous-looking needle. “Ninu also works on his sentinels himself. The branding requires a careful touch. The human brain must be handled with precision.”

His hair was especially wild today, sticking out from his head like wires. When I didn’t look into his eyes or hear the emptiness in his voice, he might have been just a peculiar man. If he was Infinite—was this his real form?

“Why ‘the Black Rider’? What is it supposed to mean?”

Irra glanced up at me, the needle in his hand hovering above my skin. “You know the temples they once built to worship me?”

I shook my head. “There’s a temple in the North District, but I don’t know who it’s for.”

“You’ve seen one just for me, though,” he said.

“I have?” I asked, racking my memory and coming up with nothing.

“The day we met.”

I snorted softly. “Are you talking about your bread . . . model thing?”

He almost smiled. “I’m working on the details of my replicas. But yes. The defining feature of my temples was the image the humans painted of me: a rider with black robes.”

“Was sugar their signature offering?”

He did smile then, but there was something darker hidden behind it that I couldn’t identify, like trying to see beyond the mist that cloaked Etu Gahl.

“Everyone has their weakness,” he said. “Yours is human emotion. Mine is the brief rush of sweet, if false, happiness.”

The way he said “happiness” snagged against my thoughts. “Why is happiness a weakness?”

“Look at who I am,” he said, without an ounce of sarcasm. His eyes searched mine, and the room slipped away, plunging me into blackness. Then he blinked, and the moment ended. “Happiness is not my natural state.”

I didn’t think he was trying to intimidate me—just drive his point home. So I shook off the lingering sensation and tried for a light “But horse rider is?”

The pall over him lifted. “I wouldn’t be much of a rider now.” He sounded wistful. “I was much younger then. And I haven’t seen a horse in ages.”

“How old are you?”

“Even the Infinite are tied to the River’s flow. And its current has carried me a very long ways. This may sting.”

I winced as the needle pricked my skin, sinking into the vein. The vial attached to the end began filling with blood. It looked like magic, but Irra insisted it wasn’t. Drawing blood by magic would hurt more.

After a few seconds, he removed the needle and pressed a clean bit of gauze over the small wound.

“Hold this,” he instructed.

I did, watching as he reached across the counter and retrieved a slim piece of metal. My original ID, which I’d tossed into my bag that day we left Ninurta, lay beside my arm. He picked it up and held both against the light.

“See how yours has a red tint?” he asked.

I studied the way the light slid across the metal. My old ID held the barest tint of red. I nodded, slightly unnerved.

“I can re-create my own version of the enchantment, one that should pass a cursory inspection. Ninu will only seek out a trace if he’s given reason.”

“If every ID is created with a bit of blood, why does he need energy drives to find the mahjo? Wouldn’t it be simpler for Ninu to snatch away babies and raise them as his soldiers?”

“Even before Rebirth, mahjo only came into their powers as they matured. The blood of a newborn would contain no magic for Ninu to detect.”

The words newborn and blood used together made my stomach turn.

“I’ll have the new IDs ready soon. You will, of course, have to leave your old one here.” He took the gauze from me and examined the red spot on my arm. The skin around it had begun to bruise.

I almost snatched back my ID. “Thanks. For doing all of this.”

He only nodded. “This will be your new information,” he said, pulling out a sheet of paper. “Name: Nel Souin. Age: Seventeen. Born May twenty-third in the North District. You lived with your parents until you were fifteen, when the Academy offered you early admittance based on exceptional scores on your aptitude tests. After completing the preliminary exams for graduation, you were ushered into the Tournament with quick approval. Congratulations.”

I gave him a weak smile. “Can’t wait.”

“If anyone asks about your time at the Academy, be as vague as possible. Their enrollment numbers are high enough that no one should question not having seen you before.”

“Got it.”

“Next!” he called abruptly, and I stood.

Outside, Avan lounged on the nearest cot. He looked too relaxed for it to be real. What was he thinking? Was he regretting his decision, whatever that was? I hoped he had chosen to go home. I truly did.

Despite the ache inside me, I did.

I swept my arm to the side to indicate it was his turn. Once he was in the room with Irra, I sat in the slight indentation left on the cot. It was still warm.

G-10 had briefed us in training this morning. He would lead us into Ninurta, all the way into the White Court. I didn’t know how he planned to get us in, and with G-10 in full-on instructor mode, I hadn’t dared to ask. Our false identities had already been added to the citizen registry by Irra’s spies.

If Avan chose to go home, then G-10 had designated a hidden location for him to surface in the North District. We would arrive the night before the Tournament, allowing me to slip easily into the preliminary rounds.

Weapons weren’t allowed in the matches, but G-10 had shown us his torch blade. Torch blades were the exclusive weapon of the sentinels. It was a beautiful sword, forged with subtle traces of magic that transformed the metal into something lightweight and iridescent. The silvery blade moved with silken ease in G-10’s practiced hands.

He taught us a few ways to block it. Then he showed me how to strike with my knife, quickly and deadly. Hopefully, I wouldn’t need to use these skills. But if things didn’t go according to plan, I’d have to use all my abilities to get us out of there.

I lifted my arm, studying the bruise.

Nel. I reminded myself I wanted this. Logically, I knew that switching my ID was a smart tactic. It didn’t change anything about me. But I couldn’t help feeling as if I’d left a bit of myself behind in that room. More than my blood.

My house is a place of forgotten things.

Giving up my name felt like, this time, I was letting my identity be taken from me—everything I’d been, everything I had become. Would that bit of me wither away, merge into the ever-growing walls of Etu Gahl?

I rubbed my hands down my arms. How long had it been since Avan went in? Twenty minutes? He should have been done by now. Remembering the incident with the clippers, I suddenly wasn’t sure if leaving Irra with Avan and an array of sharp tools had been a good idea.

I stood and paced the aisle between the cots. Another twenty minutes passed before Avan emerged.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

Tension pinched the corners of his mouth. “We had some complications,” he said. “But it’s done now. My ID says I’m Savorn.”

He held his arm against his side, hiding the bend of his elbow. I reached over. “Let me see.”

He showed me his arm. It was completely unmarred. I swept my thumb over his skin. His muscles jumped beneath my fingers.

“Did he even . . . ?”

“Yes,” Avan said, lowering his arm. “I told you it’s done.”

“Avan—”

“I’m joining the Tournament with you.”

I stepped back. “I can’t believe you gave up your chance to go home.”

“There will be other chances after we save Reev. And it’s my choice. I made a promise to myself when we left Ninurta. I’m not leaving you.”

I wanted to yell at him. I should have. He’d made the wrong choice. I could have done the rest of this without him—I was determined enough to try. But . . . despite how much I wanted to push Avan away from this mess, a part of me was glad he’d chosen to stay.

He put up a hand. “Don’t. It’s over. I’m not doing that again just to get another ID.”

My gaze cut to his arm. “What were the complications?” It was a needle in a vein. What could have gone wrong?

“Nothing worth repeating. I’m going to do some extra training,” he said, and brushed past me.

I watched him go, his shoulders stiff.

G-10 had said that the descendants of the Infinite healed rapidly. I had yet to see any injuries on Avan, even after our tumble off the Gray. If Avan was mahjo, it would also explain how he sensed my manipulation of time.

Have you considered the possibility that you might be like Irra?

Maybe that first night here, Avan hadn’t been talking only about me. Maybe, even then, he’d suspected.

What if you could find out for sure? Would you want to know?

I was willing to bet that he had figured out the answer for himself. And he didn’t seem thrilled about it.